Dull
by DreamSweeper
Summary: Another boring day at Privet Drive Number Four. Thank Merlin for distractions.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am merely a puppet master, and today, I have chosen the characters of J.K Rowling's series to play with. Dance puppets! Dance! evil cackle Ahem. . . . right, on with the story!  
  
Harry Potter sighed inwardly as he stared at the wall of Privet Drive number four. It was a dull day, and he was in his dull room looking at an extremely dull wall above his bed. The Dursley's were downstairs eating brunch with a client of Harry's oversized Uncle Vernon's, and once again, Harry was pretending to be non-existent.  
  
Harry looked at his potions book and sighed again. The summer was nearly over and he was still here, in what seemed to be one of the first layers of hell, with the Dursley's being the gatekeepers. Since Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was best for Harry to stay with the muggles during the summer, it made it impossible for Harry to go to Ron's and actually enjoy his vacation. But instead, there he was, with only his potions book to console him.  
  
*Damn potions* he thought.  
  
He looked to his small but adequate desk and saw the picture of his best friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His best friend Ron, with flaming red hair on his right, looked up at him and smiled.  
  
Harry smirked and glanced at his other best friend, Hermione Granger. She smiled sweetly at Harry and elbowed Ron casually in the gut. Ron looked shocked and dismayed at her sudden show of violence, but laughed it off as Hermione started giggling silently in the picture.  
  
Now, Hermione was his best friend, but in a weird way. When they had first become friends in first year after the troll incident that resulted in the demolition of a girls lavatory, he had assumed that she was like a little sister. He looked out for her, and she nagged him about his homework. Sure, Ron had some influence on that method of thought. . . .okay, a lot of influence, but Harry didn't really pay any mind to it until second year.  
  
Harry frowned at the memory. He remembered seeing her lying extremely still on the bed in the infirmary, and he remembered the feeling of his heart thudding in his chest. At that very moment he had discovered he didn't want to lose her, and he knew that he had to find a cure her no matter what. The fact that Hermione had helped himself and Ron solve the basilisk mystery even in a catatonic state was admirable.  
  
By the time third year had rolled around, Harry's opinion of Hermione had gone from appreciation to admiration. When the issue with Sirius went completely out of control, and he needed someone to help him save his Godfather and Buckbeak, Hermione was there with her time-turner to assist him. Harry grinned at that memory, as he rode on Buckbeak with Hermione grasping tightly to his waist murmuring, "I don't like this at all." In that moment she seemed so afraid and helpless. He had wanted to tell her it would be alright, yet his mind was on saving Sirius from those bloody dementors.  
  
Besides, she wasn't helpless. She was strong, and she stood up for what she believed in. Harry chuckled as he recalled her not-for-profit elf organization, S.P.E.W. or the Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare. She had tried for months to gain equal rights for house elves, and had only gained two followers in the end, Harry and Ron, of whom Ron thought it was a rather ridiculous scheme in the first place. Not even the house elves themselves would listen to Hermione's rationale about elvish rights, with the exception of Dobby of course.  
  
Hermione was the only one who truly believed that he didn't want to be in the Triwizard Tournament. Not even Ron had stayed by his side, as Harry assumed he would. Hermione had helped him with his tasks as much as she could, and was even a diplomat for Harry and Ron when Ron was being a git. Harry rolled his eyes, remembering Ron's jealousy.  
  
Closing his eyes, he remembered the Yule Ball, and grinned when he remembered her appearance. She had looked absolutely. . . like the girl who wasn't his best friend. She looked nothing like herself, and what killed Harry even more was that he didn't see it in the first place. She was. . . well. . . pretty. . . hell, she was gorgeous. However, he was too late for that. His opponent Victor Krum had seen it before him, and alas, Krum danced with her, not Harry. And it was Krum who was to pull her from the lake, despite Harry's urgent refusal to leave her until Krum arrived at the bottom of the lake. He didn't want her to be left there to drown, and even though it never registered in his mind that Dumbledore would never let that happen, he stayed with her, watching her float in the dark murky water, unconscious and surrounded by mer-people.  
  
Then he remembered how Hermione had captured Rita Skeeter, the nosy and utterly obnoxious reporter from the Daily Prophet who was doing stories on the Triwizard Tournament, and expositions on Harry's life. He chuckled again as he remembered the article that basically proclaimed Hermione a man- eater and user. Thank Merlin she had caught her in the infirmary after the last task. If word had gotten out about Voldemort's resurrection, and Harry's part in it, Merlin knows what would have happened.  
  
Harry's last memory of Hermione appeared in his mind, and he smiled warmly at the thought of it. She had kissed him on the cheek. Whether it was a "Good bye for the summer" kiss on the cheek, an "I'm really glad you're okay" kiss on the cheek, or even an "I'm going to miss you" kiss on the cheek, it was still his first kiss.  
  
A blush warmed his face and he put his hand up to his cheek. Maybe he more than admired her now. Maybe his respect had grown into something more concrete, and that was something inspirational. A genuine smile appeared on his face, and he looked one last time at the picture on his desk. Ron and Hermione waved at him, and Harry turned back to his potions book, finally prepared to immerse himself in boring potions terminology.  
  
Not one second later an owl flew in through his open window and perched on his bed, looking at Harry intently. He quickly untied the letter around the owl's leg and gave it a morsel of leftover toast. Harry read its neat scrawl across the envelope and grinned. It was Hermione's writing. Maybe the day wouldn't be so dull after all.  
  
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Authors Note: Okay, review por favor! I don't respond to flames, yet greatly appreciate constructive criticism. I know this one wasn't really too great, but I was bored, and decided to write something. Tell me if you think it sucks and why. Don't just tell me it sucks, because without evidence I'll just dismiss it. Thanks bunches! ---- Kat 


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